A True Okashira
by KC Evans
Summary: With a tragedy striking too close to her heart and problems abounding within the shinobi world, Misao slowly begins to realize what it really means to be the Okashira. AM
1. Chapter 1: Justice

Disclaimer: Rurouni Kenshin is copyrighted by their respective owners, of which I am not one.

* * *

When Aoshi opened his eyes, the sun was already riding high towards its zenith, streaming through the eastern window to bathe the room with its golden light. From the position of the sun, he could tell it was already mid-morning. He furrowed his brow into a frown; his internal clock must still be off. Of course, no one had stopped by to wake him up. 

He lay there for a long moment, gathering his strength, testing his body gingerly before attempting to sit up. Biting back a groan as his muscles pulled and contracted painfully, he carefully rose to an upright position, rested briefly, then climbed the rest of the way to his feet.

It took more energy than he cared to admit, but Aoshi managed to slowly fold the futon up and set it in its usual corner before opening his chest to find something to wear. Every movement drove a fresh wave of pain through his injured shoulder and ribs but he pushed it aside with little thought. He could not think of the pain now. _Keep moving,_ he told himself. So he did.

He ran through his morning ablutions with less finesse than usual, nearly upsetting the bowl of water he used to wash his face clear of sleep. After easing into the clothes he picked out for today, he glanced at the sun again. Damn. It still took him too long to finish his morning routine.

With a loud breath that could suspiciously sound like a sigh – if Aoshi was the type to sigh – he turned to finally leave the room. And caught sight of the cane set in the corner, as if reminding him of his weakness.

Not even Okina used a cane. No way was _he_ going to start now.

Resolutely, Aoshi ignored the walking stick and stepped towards the door. Well, more like shuffled. Grimacing at his lack of grace, he opened the shoji and glanced at the man who was standing next to the door attentively.

The man bowed respectfully. Aoshi merely nodded, his annoyance at his slow start to the morning doubling with the guard. But it wasn't the sentry's fault, he was merely following orders. Aoshi turned and slowly stepped down the stairs, stopping to rest often when he felt out of breath.

On the bottom landing, Omasu poked her head out of the kitchen as she heard the unusually heavy tread on the steps. She frowned upon seeing him lean against the wall gingerly, panting from the exertion. "Aoshi! Should you already be up?"

The kunoichi would have hurried to his side to help him but Aoshi glared at her to keep her distance. "Despite the rumors, I am not on my deathbed, Omasu. You may return to your duties."

Omasu frowned at his curt tone, not so much bothered by it than worried about his condition. "Well, I hope you're not intending to go to the temple right now. The Okashira is in the office, if you want to know. And lunch will be ready soon." With that, she disappeared back into the kitchen.

_Okashira._ Omasu had used the title, not Misao's name. Which meant official Oniwaban business was about.

Aoshi contemplated the shinobi's deliberate use of the word. Omasu must have known that he wouldn't attempt to leave for the temple until he knew what was going on with Misao. Thus she left without further warning him to be careful of his condition, as everyone seemed to be fond of doing these days.

His expression flickered into another grimace. Was he becoming that predictable in wanting to check to make sure all was well with her?

Predictable or not, his interest was definitely piqued. Aoshi took a deep breath, exhaled, found his center of peace to fight back the ever-present waves of pain, and started the slow trek down the hallway to the Okashira's office.

Behind him, his sentry tagged along silently.

By the time he arrived at the closed shoji, Aoshi was panting again. Pain coursed through his body freely but he ignored it, focusing instead on the words coming through the door. They were slightly muffled, but he leaned forward to listen more intently. Besides, he had always had excellent hearing, which saved his life on more than one occasion.

"The Osaka branch has reported nothing suspicious so far," a male's voice was saying, even gruffer than usual. "The Yokohama branch sends the same message."

A feminine voice answered, sounding slightly disgusted. "What a surprise. We're missing something here, Jiya. We already know they're organized and efficient and there is at least some evidence of corruption within the ranks." A sigh escaped her and Aoshi could imagine her shaking her head in frustration. "Tell all the branch leaders to double their vigilance. Anything – and I mean _anything_ – should be reported to me immediately."

There was a long silence which puzzled Aoshi. Then the shoji opened and Okina leaned forward until his nose was nearly touching the younger man's. "Spying on the Okashira is an offense punishable by death, Aoshi."

Aoshi instantly put distance between them, his stern mask not wavering in face of his former mentor's teasing. "I am well aware of that," he said shortly.

Okina sighed heavily. "You're no fun, _especially_ when you're injured. Come in, then. Maybe Misao can change your surly attitude." He eyed Aoshi speculatively, causing the younger man to stiffen in preparation for the next comment that was inevitably made. "Are you sure you should be hobbling around in your condition?"

Aoshi didn't even bother to justify that question with an answer. "I'd like to see the _Okashira_ now," he said brusquely.

Okina cackled to himself at the not-so-subtle emphasis on the title. He stepped aside to let the younger man through, nodding to the guard who slipped into position outside the door. Turning back to the room, he saw Aoshi already towering over Misao with his spectacular height. Unfortunately, if he was trying to intimidate the young woman, it was wasted. Misao was too busy scribbling something on a scroll to look up.

Of course, she had time to say, "Okina, I'd like to speak with Aoshi-sama alone, please."

Bah. He never got to hear the good stuff. Grumbling to himself, Okina stepped out and shut the door behind him. He glanced at the young guard, trying to remember his name. Was it Gomo? No, that wasn't right. Giro? Gyoro? "Eh, Gyoro," he began.

"Genjo, sir," the young man interrupted.

"Genjo, right. If you hear anything being thrown about, come get me, all right?"

The young shinobi blinked. "Uh, sir?"

"Don't worry about them, just find me." Okina looked at him sternly. "And that is an order, understood?"

Genjo automatically responded to the voice of authority and nearly saluted. "Sir!"

Okina cackled again and left.

Inside the room, Aoshi waited until he could feel Okina's ki moving away from the room. When it was far enough that he didn't need to worry about the old man eavesdropping, he dropped his gaze down to Misao's dark head. She was still concentrating on the scroll in front of her, writing rapidly in bold strokes. The tip of her tongue peered out from the corner of her mouth which distracted Aoshi for a moment. He then shook his head mentally. _Focus_, he told himself sternly. Out loud, he said, "Misao."

She glanced up at him then, taking a brief inventory of his condition. Her brow furrowed as she took in his unusually pale complexion and unsteady feet but she said nothing about it. It wouldn't do any good, anyway since he ignored the first thousand concerns she had voiced in the weeks past. "Yes?" she asked.

"What do you think you're doing?"

Misao blinked her large cerulean eyes at his question. "What am I doing?" she repeated. "I'm doing my job?"

It was more of a question than a response. Aoshi placed one palm on the desk, more to steady himself than to be intimidating. He hadn't realized how much energy it took to stand upright for so long. "And your job now is to do what?"

She blinked again before setting her brush down carefully across the inkpot and hopping off her seat. Moving away from the desk, Misao took his arm and guided him to sit in the chair she had just vacated. Aoshi considered protesting at the unnecessary care – after all, _she_ was the Okashira, not him. But her face, surprisingly impassive, met his gaze. Gone was the hesitation in her voice, or her usual genki tone. In its place was a stern command. An order.

"Sit."

So he sat.

He noticed the relief immediately. Aoshi could only despair silently at his broken body. A body so weak he couldn't even stand for ten minutes without feeling as though the strength was drained from his body. This was even worse than the time he had fought Battousai in Shishio's hideout.

He would never again take for granted the freedom he used to have.

Misao reached out absently to smooth the fabric of his shirt around his good shoulder. Her gentle touch soothed his racking body, allowing him to breathe through the pain more easily. She noticed the tenseness leave his body and she smiled at him, a smile he hadn't seen in three weeks.It never occurred to him that he could miss them. The bright smile would slowly light up the room and even his shattered soul.

He didn't know he missed them until she had stopped smiling. Instead, a somber look replaced the formerly open expression. She didn't laugh as often, nor did she act as bubbly as she had before. Three weeks ago, the smile and innocent joy was wiped from Misao Makimachi's face. In its stead was a serious, emotionally pain-ridden young woman

Aoshi didn't hate those who injured him. He wasn't happy about it, of course. But he could live with the trials fate threw in his direction. Upon his return back to the Oniwabanshu, he had meditated for a long time before being able to finally accept the capricious winds of change. It was that acceptance that allowed him to finally admit his feelings for Misao and confront whatever would happen in the future.

No, he didn't hate his attackers for nearly killing him.

He hated them for changing his beautiful, happy Misao into an expressionless, stoic Okashira.

Or, as Okina dryly put it, a miniature Aoshi.

"Aoshi-sama?"

He looked at her and noticed the smile disappeared from her face again. She was watching him with those solemn, penetrating eyes that seemed to pierce deep into his soul. As if she could read his thoughts. And more often than he cared to admit, she could. "Misao. What are you doing contacting the other branches of the Oniwabanshu?"

She gave him a funny look, her hand dropping away from his shoulder. Aoshi felt the bereavement almost instantly and had to forcefully quell the urge to grab her hand and place it back exactly where it was before. "I'm trying to gather information, of course. We can't track the rogue ninjas down without it."

"You are going after them?"

This time, exasperation lit her blue eyes. "Of course I am! We can't leave them unpunished and thinking they can attack the former Okashira as they want!"

Her evident impatience didn't mask the flash of pain and anger. No matter how cold she had become, Misao still couldn't manage to conceal all her emotions. Not when she was used to showing and telling everyone around her exactly what she was feeling.

Aoshi was relieved that, at least, hadn't changed. She was harder to read when she tucked away all expression from her face. He briefly wondered if she had felt the same way about him.

Bringing his mind back to the current topic at hand, Aoshi stared down at her. "There is a good chance you will never catch them, Misao. It may be better to use the Oniwaban in other ways instead of focusing solely on this one situation."

Misao returned his gaze without wavering. If anything, her eyes hardened. "Not happening," she said flatly. Turning towards the desk, she shuffled the papers up and began stacking them into neat piles. "I'm not letting them escape punishment, Aoshi-sama, no matter what you say."

Aoshi exhaled slowly, traces of unfamiliar fear beginning to curl within his aching body. Her cold expression, her resolve was a frightening reminder of how he was four years ago. The single-minded determination to meet one goal, no matter what the consequence. Knowing the depth of Misao's feelings for him, Aoshi knew the path to chaos would beckon to her more strongly. A path he himself had walked down once before and nearly died for. A memory he did not relish but nevertheless remembered, to remind him of what was truly important.

But did Misao know that? Aoshi struggled to keep his voice in its usual impassive tone, forced himself to speak as one would to an equal rank. "Revenge should not be your objective, Misao."

She stiffened at his words. He could see it from the tension settling in her shoulders. Without turning around to face him, she said in a low voice, "I know, Aoshi-sama."

Did she really know? Could Misao truly understand that, in the end, revenge was nothing but a pitiful illusion that was cast by oneself? That it would bring her nothing but pain? Aoshi realized the uncertainly of that answer frightened him. It actually scared him. He couldn't let Misao become like him, no matter what happened. "Misao," he said, trying to order his words into something that would make sense. Something, _anything_ to keep her from committing the same mistakes he had.

"What?"

She still didn't turn around. Aoshi stared at her slender back, at the symbol of the Oniwabanshu etched on the back of the black gi she wore. Misao had taken to wearing it in favor of her former navy colored outfit as she took the role of Okashira more seriously. Her change of clothing was an ironic gesture that Aoshi couldn't help but notice. Had all this changed within the last three weeks? She was completely the opposite of what she used to be.

When did Misao lose her ability to laugh?

Aoshi felt his heart wrench at the thought. He didn't want Misao to change. He wanted her as she had always been. The picture of innocence and carefree laughter. The joy of his life and those of the Oniwabanshu.

He slowly reached out to touch her rigid spine. Pain lanced through his heart – physical _and_ emotional – as she jerked under his fingertips. "Misao," he whispered, unable to entirely hide the ache in his voice. He could not – _would not_ – let her walk down the same path as he did.

Misao finally looked over her shoulder, meeting his gaze. The cerulean eyes were hardened into something Aoshi couldn't recognize. Someone he didn't know at all. "I won't change my mind, Aoshi-sama," she said curtly. "These are my orders. I will have them carried out."

With those final words, she left him sitting in the office, awash in pain that was more physical in nature.

* * *

Aoshi disappeared into the temple to meditate the rest of the day. He didn't appear for lunch or dinner. Neither did Misao. She had holed herself back in her office once it was devoid of any presence, especially a tall, dark-haired man. 

Okina, with his usual uncanny perception, detected something was wrong.

He managed to wrestle some information from Genjo but the poor boy didn't pay much attention to the conversation Misao and Aoshi had earlier. No, he was too busy paying attention, watching out for anyone else trying to attack the couple.

Ah, well, he was young. He'd learn soon enough.

Armed with only sparse information, Okina tracked down the shinobi who relieved Genjo of his sentry duty. In no uncertain terms, he told the new guard to keep an ear out for any conversation the Okashira and her husband might have.

"But, sir," the ninja protested – what was his name again? Hiroshi? Takiji? Mochi?

No, no, that was the dessert they had after dinner. Yum.

"Sir, isn't that … well, invading their privacy?" whatever-his-name was asked, rather scandalized at the old man's order.

Okina scoffed. "We're shinobi. There's no such thing as privacy around here."

Tsushiri or whatever he called himself didn't look convinced.

Okina sighed. "Look, Takeshi …"

"Yoshi, sir."

"Yoshi, right. Look, this is important for the future of our organization. Do you _really_ want to be known as the ninja who brought down the Oniwabanshu?"

Takeshi blanched underneath his pale skin. Okina made a mental note to tell Misao they really needed to step up training if they were all beginning to look like ghosts. Light skin meant not enough physical workouts outside. "N-no, sir!" he stammered.

"Then do your job. Report back to me at the end of your shift," Okina said sternly.

"Yes, sir!"

Okina turned to leave, unable to help himself as a triumphant grin dawned on his face. _As easy as taking a shuriken from a baby shinobi_, he thought with an evil smirk.

* * *

When Misao finally dragged herself out of the office, she was exhausted. Okon had left dinner for her but she didn't have enough energy to return the tray to the kitchen. So she left it there and headed upstairs to her room. 

Nodding to the shinobi on guard outside, she slid the shoji open and stepped inside, closing the door behind her quietly. Aoshi was already dressed in his sleeping yukata, facing the wall and meditating. The futon was already spread out and ready for her to collapse in. Misao half-heartedly considered a bath but concluded all she really wanted was to sleep.

Unfortunately, the earlier quarrel she had with Aoshi weighed heavily on her mind, despite her weariness. She sighed softly and changed into her own yukata, keeping quiet so that she wouldn't disturb the meditating figure. But by the time she finished folding her clothes up, she turned around and noticed his gaze focused on her.

The silence stretched for a long moments as they locked eyes with one another. Misao finally looked away, unable to bear the solemn, guarded look in his eyes. "We should sleep," she mumbled. "You need your rest."

Aoshi didn't speak and for a moment Misao thought he wasn't going to. But he finally nodded and said a soft, "Aa."

Misao hated the distance between them but didn't know how to fix it. So she watched Aoshi shift his position and move stiffly towards the futon. She noticed the grimace at every slight move he made, the flare of pain so sharp even he couldn't mask it behind his cool exterior. She found herself trembling in both anger and frustration and sadness as the once graceful man all but tumbled helplessly into bed. Squeezing her eyes shut, Misao tried to block out the image from her mind. It was so unfair he had to suffer so much pain.

A quiet voice reached her, breaking through her thoughts. "Do you find it unbearable to see me now? A cripple?"

Her eyes flew open at the question, gaping at Aoshi in horror. "No! It's not that at all!"

His gaze captured hers in an unwavering stare. "Then what is it, Misao?"

She bit her lip, trying hard to keep her composure. "I … I just don't like seeing you in so much pain. It's just … not fair."

Aoshi considered her words for a moment. "Come here, Misao."

Trepidation surging through her body caused her slight frame to tremble as she obeyed his command. Walking to the edge of the futon, she knelt down and moved closer to his side. Automatically, she inhaled his clean, fresh scent that sent her senses reeling. His closeness had always affected her, leaving her dizzy and breathless. Misao knew her reaction to him was one thing that would never change, no matter how long they were together.

Aoshi reached for her the moment she was close enough and wrapped his arms around her. Drawing her nearer, he bent his head to murmur in her ear. "When you are next to me, Misao, I don't feel the pain at all."

There was a hitch in her breath as she lay unmoving in his arms. "Aoshi-sama," she whispered as she felt his tongue tracing the whorls of her ear. When his lips moved down to her shoulders, she struggled to sit up. "Let me turn down the lamp," she said softly.

He let her go and watched as she doused the light before crawling back to him. They fell into the futon, wrapped in each other and made love for the first time in three weeks.

Afterwards, Misao listened to their breathing in the darkened room. She could hear the reassuring, rhythmic thump of Aoshi's heart as her head half-lay on his chest. His good arm was wrapped around her shoulders, holding her in a satisfyingly possessive grip. Although his breath was, for the first time in a while, easy and soft, she could tell he was still awake.

So she asked the question that had been weighing on her mind. "Aoshi-sama?"

"Aa."

"Are you … hurting anywhere? I mean, after we've … well, you know."

Aoshi could imagine the fiery blush on Misao's face even though they had been married well over a year. That picture alone nearly made him smile. "I'm fine, Misao."

"Good."

There was silence for a long while and just when Aoshi was about to drift off into what he thought might be the best sleep he had in three weeks, Misao spoke again.

"Aoshi-sama?"

"Yes?"

He could literally feel her gathering her courage just before she spoke. "I'm not giving up on the search for those men. They need to be hunted down and executed. Jiya agrees with me on this."

Aoshi stared up at the ceiling, slightly illuminated by the moon's silvery light. Finally, he exhaled and nodded. "Very well, Misao." He paused to frame his next words carefully. "But I will be watching you." He couldn't stop her from walking the fine line between justice and revenge, but he would be damned before he allowed Misao to turn into a soldier of chaos.

He could tell she understood what he meant. "All right," she said softly.

And with that, they finally fell asleep in each others' arms.

* * *

_AN: See my profile for details pertaining to updates on this story. _


	2. Chapter 2: Future

_Three weeks and 2 days ago_

The one indulgence Aoshi Shinomori allowed himself was to hear his wife speak. Not just her words, but her over-exaggerated gestures, the faces that she made, and every subtle shift in her body. Even in the middle of a meeting, he would sometimes lose his focus, only seeing her infectious grin or relish in her bubbly laughter. Oftentimes, he caught Okina slanting him an exasperated glare at his inattention, but he couldn't help himself, knew it really wasn't like his usual self. She was like good sake, snaking through his system with just the right amount of warmth to be relaxing.

He had sake once and it had heated his entire body. Misao cause the same reaction to him every time he was near her. He didn't think the comparison was that off.

Of course, he would never tell anyone. That would be suicidal. It would just make everyone tease him even more. It would probably also encourage Okina to drink, just for experiment's sake.

" … It seems as though there are increasing reports of rogue shinobi operating within the bigger cities. It's been raising concerns with government officials," Misao was saying, reading a report while summarizing it for the benefit of the two men in the office with her. She glanced up at Okina, her adopted grandfather and most trusted advisor. "What do you think that means?"

Okina stroked his white beard carefully as he pondered the information. "Hmm, I'm not sure. It could be these rogue shinobi are becoming more active for some nefarious purpose. If that's the case, it may be wise to send someone to investigate this matter further."

Misao studied the scroll in her hand, brow puckered in concentration. "Hmm. I see what you mean. Even if this is a basic estimate, the sheer number of them is staggering."

"Since the end of the Revolution, there aren't that many uses left for shinobi," Okina said thoughtfully. "Instead of dying out, they would rather abandon their group and turn rogue."

Okina didn't have to add 'Just as the Oniwabanshu might have done'. But after the ordeal with Shishio and just how close the bandaged manslayer had come to burning down their beloved Kyoto, Misao and the rest of the group found a new calling in protecting their city and home. Even in an era of peace, there were still people determined to do anything to gain their own goals with no regards to the people they hurt in the process. With the Meiji government's unofficial backing, the Oniwabanshu now gathered intelligence to keep track of those who would constitute a threat to the peace.

If Aoshi or Okina found their new situation ironic, seeing as they were enemies of the fledging government not fifteen years ago, they never said anything.

Misao tapped a finger on her desk absently. "If they decide to do something drastic, even _we_ won't have the manpower to stop them. You're right, Jiya, we need to find out what's going on before we can do something about it. I think I should send Omasu and Shiro. They've worked together on missions like these before and were pretty successful in getting the necessary information. What do you think, Aoshi-sama?"

Luckily, Aoshi managed to catch the tail end of the conversation, thanks to a well-timed kick from Okina. "That sounds fine, Misao," he said.

Misao nodded in satisfaction and scribbled a note on the paper before going onto the next scroll. "All right, then we're half-way done. Next is …"

"Next is when you two are going to give me some great-grandchildren," Okina interrupted. "You two have been married for over a year and I'm not getting any younger. Hurry up and get her pregnant already, Aoshi!"

"Jiya!" Misao shrieked, turning an alarming shade of red. She slapped the scroll in her hand down on the desk, glaring at the old man. "That's none of your business, you old pervert!"

"Hah, it is definitely my business because it's up to you two to produce the next generation of Makimachi-Shinomori children," Okina shot back. "He or she will represent the future of the Oniwabanshu. Are you two having regular s–"

"Jiya!" Misao nearly leapt over the table to clap a hand over the old man's mouth. "Don't say another word," she hissed before sneaking a quick glance at her husband to see how he was taking it.

Of course, Aoshi didn't look perturbed. At all. He hadn't even moved from his position.

Okina, despite his frail countenance, managed to pry Misao's fingers off his mouth. Not an easy feat, considering how desperately she wanted to keep him silent. "Now, now, my pretty Misao, don't get so upset. I was just thinking of the future, that's all." He sighed and added sadly, "Of course, I can't _force_ you two to fulfill an old man's last wish …"

Aoshi reached over and plucked Misao away before she strangled her grandfather. Out loud, he said calmly, "It will happen when it is the right time, Okina. Now, shall we get back to the rest of the paperwork?"

Luckily, the rest of the morning went a little more smoothly.

After the meeting, Aoshi escaped to the temple to meditate while Okina left to terrorize the more comely looking patrons of the Aoiya. Misao sighed glumly as she saw all the paperwork strewn across her desk. She hadn't realized just how much work it took to be Okashira. If she had known it would mean being buried alive under parchment, she would have reconsidered.

Okay, maybe not. But seriously, was there enough paper in Kyoto to support the Oniwabanshu as they continued to monitor various situations as they arose?

Heaving a self-pitying sigh, Misao reached for the annual budget report for the Aoiya that supported said Oniwabanshu activities. If she didn't finish this by dinnertime, both Jiya _and_ Okon would have her head.

Unfortunately, just looking at the numbers made her head swim. Misao was certain she would end up cross-eyed by tonight.

The cross-eyed Okashira. Her grandfather would be so proud.

Someone knocked on the door and opened it without waiting for an answer. "My pretty Misao, I almost forgot to tell you. I'm going to need the report logs for the past two weeks by tomorrow." Okina leveled a stern look in her direction. "You _have_ been keeping up with them like I told you, right?"

Reports logged for the past two weeks? Keep up? Hah! Misao mustered what she hoped was a confident smile. "Uh, sure, Jiya. By tomorrow."

Okina eyed her for a long moment as if debating whether or not to call her bluff. Evidently, he decided to give her the benefit of the doubt because he nodded and ducked back out.

As soon as he was gone, Misao groaned and let her head fall onto her desk. Now she was going to be up all night recording those stupid logs. Who thought up the idea to log reports anyway? If they fell into enemy hands, the Oniwabanshu was in trouble as it recorded all the information they gathered and the actions taken in response to it. Was that really so wise?

Well, she _was_ the Okashira. All she had to do was decree that it was a stupid, dangerous practice and she would no longer allow it. There. Good as done.

Okina popped his head into the room again without warning, causing Misao to jump and hit her knee against her desk. He tsked at her yelp of pain. "Shinobi – especially shinobi leaders – don't get accidental bruises, Misao."

The young Okashira glowered at her grandfather. Most people would run to their precious grandchildren to kiss their booboo but noooo, hers had to be different. "Was there something else you needed, Jiya?" she asked through clenched teeth as she mournfully rubbed her offended knee.

"Hmm? Oh, yes! Don't think you can get out of those report logs. You already tried to do that once by declaring it was dangerous to leave records lying around."

She did?

"But remember, if we don't have those logs, we can't use them as references in the future. That's all, my pretty Misao." He grinned and fingered the pink bow adorning his silver goatee. "Have fun!" He vanished again, leaving his poor grandchild alone to do endless work.

Was it too late to step down as the Okashira?

-------------

_Now_

Misao had always hated getting up early; after all, she was a shinobi and shinobi thrived in the dark (at least that was the excuse she gave to Okina during the times she overslept; for some reason, he never seemed to accept it). But these days, she found it more than necessary to wake up around dawn to keep up with everything that had been happening. So when she awoke, the sun had barely peeked over the horizon and the room was still dark. Beside her, she could hear Aoshi's steady breathing that was occasionally interrupted by a hiss of pain. She winced whenever she heard it, wondering how he could possibly sleep when his body was still racked with injuries. She was convinced it was only his strong constitution and determination that kept him from succumbing to the ever-present pain.

She had only slept a few hours, still too paranoid to sleep much, making her even more tired than ever. With a sigh, Misao finally wriggled out of the warm futon, careful not to wake her slumbering husband. In the chill of the early dawn, she fumbled to shed her sleeping yukata and pull on her usual outfit. Quickly, quietly, and efficiently, she scrubbed her face clean, swished around salted water to brush her teeth, and combed and braided her long hair. Finally feeling ready, she felt her way to the door, slid the shoji open, and stepped out.

The night guard was still standing in attention and bowed as he saw her. "Okashira-sama," he said softly, respectfully.

Misao nodded to him in return. "Good morning, Yoshi," she whispered. "Aoshi-sama is still sleeping so please keep an eye on him."

She could tell he was surprised – at what? she was too tired to care else she would have asked – but covered his reaction up hastily. He nodded. "Of course, ma'am."

"Good. Anything to report?"

"No, ma'am. Nothing suspicious. Master Okina stepped out for a little in the late evening, said he was going to the garden. He came back shortly afterward and no one has stirred since then."

Misao briefly wondered if the old man was having difficulty sleeping still, especially after all that had happened. She would have to check up on him later today. After all, Jiya was getting older and his health was frailer than he would admit to. "All right. Keep up the good work." She turned to head down the stairs and to her office.

Once inside her domain, Misao sat down and reached for the constant paperwork demanding her attention. She took a deep breath to focus her mind on the tasks at hand, blocking everything else out as she began to read the reports accumulated from the night before. Her attention was so complete that she didn't even hear the knock on the door until the shoji slid open and Okina poked his head in.

"Breakfast, Misao," he said gently, noticing the furrowed brow as she read some scroll.

Misao waved his words aside with a distracted gesture. "I'll eat later," she said absently. "Jiya, come look at this. Why would anyone need to buy two hundred bolts of black cloth and order extra sets weapons?"

Okina frowned and stepped to her side, peering over her shoulder as he scanned the report. "Hmm, it's from the Tokyo branch of the Oniwabanshu." He leaned in closer and blinked. "It's been ordered from the black market?"

Misao nodded, absently swatting aside his beribboned goatee that tickled her cheek as he bent down. "It's a report that came in yesterday evening from Sugarplum."

Okina snorted at the ridiculous codename as he straightened up. "_Sugarplum_?"

The Okashira rolled her eyes. "Don't ask me. That's what he wanted to be called. It's probably his weird idea of sarcasm. Anyway, our 'sweet' Sugarplum thought this would be of interest to us, seeing as he didn't think we needed this much equipment. He knows most of the branches are used for reconnaissance only. Tokyo is no exception." She didn't have to add that not only was it highly unusual to order such things without prior approval, but suspicious as well.

"How odd," Okina mused. "If the Tokyo branch ordered it, they had to know it would catch someone's attention. Such a large quantity is bound to make people ask questions."

"Especially since it's going to end up in the budget report that's sent to me. According to Sugarplum, it was bought in the black market through appropriate channels. Meaning they used the Oniwabanshu contacts and money."

Okina stroked his goatee, deep in thought. "Very strange indeed. I wonder what justification they would give for it? No one in the Oniwabanshu has need for all that material and weapons." He didn't voice the idea running through both their heads: the Tokyo branch may also be turning rogue.

Misao shrugged. "Only one way to find out." She stood up. "I'll head out there myself and assess the situation. I believe the shinobi in charge of Tokyo is Oroko. Arrange a meeting with her tomorrow night at the usual place. I'll the take the afternoon train."

Okina placed a hand on her shoulder and gave her a grandfatherly smile. "Misao, I appreciate the hands-on approach you want to take as the Okashira, but this isn't something you have to do. In fact, you'll be needed here more than Tokyo. You'll do better to send Okon instead."

Misao scowled, shrugging off the hand. "I can't keep just sending my people out without doing anything myself. Besides, if shinobi from the Tokyo branch are turning against us, I want to be there myself to see what's going on."

The old man sighed at her stubbornness. "You're the leader of the Oniwabanshu now, Misao. You can't do whatever you please anymore. You have to do what's best for your people. And in this case, it's obvious someone else can handle it. After all, it's just gathering information." Okina paused, sliding a speculative gaze on her face. "And besides, who will take care of Aoshi while you're gone? He's gotten even more impossible to handle since … well, you know."

The fierce scowl on Misao's face was so reminiscent of how she had acted a mere three weeks earlier that it tugged at Okina's heart. He missed how she used to be, her genki-ness and her joy, but he could understand how the attack changed her into such a somber person. Misao had finally realized just how responsible she was for everyone's life. The assault on her beloved Aoshi opened her eyes to see that truth and she was now becoming the responsible leader he had always hoped she would be.

But Okina still missed her smile and bubbly personality that made Misao special. He always would, but right now, the Oniwabanshu needed her was she was: focused, driven, fiercely protective of her people and aware of the situation surrounding them. If they expected to survive, they would need the famed Makimachi strength to carry them through, just as it had during the turbulent pre-Revolution era.

"All right, Jiya, I'll send Okon," Misao said finally, breaking into his thoughts. "But be warned, I don't intend to stay behind this desk forever. If something is going to happen, I plan to be right there."

Okina beamed at his granddaughter. It was nice to know that Misao now actually listened to the good advice given. "We'll discuss that situation when it comes to it. Right now, you need to eat breakfast before you get back to work. Making decisions on an empty stomach has caused many a leader embarrassing consequences in the past."

Misao eyed the old man as she was forcefully pushed to the door. "You just made that up to get me to eat."

Okina snorted. "If you don't believe me, ask Aoshi about the time he nearly signed papers enabling the citizens to raid the Edo castle kitchen should there become a shortage of food during the Revolution. And this was after he refused to eat breakfast, stating the war needed his attention more than his stomach."

Misao had to bite back a snort of derision. "Aoshi-sama wouldn't have been so stupid as to do that, even if he was hungry."

The old man raised his eyebrows at her unswerving loyalty, trying to hide his smile. "Just ask him, Misao. I guarantee that it'll be one of the very few times you'll see him blush."

"I will." There was brief silence as they headed towards the kitchen. Then, "Jiya, are you all right?"

The concern in her voice was enough for Okina to raise his eyebrows at his granddaughter who refused to look at him in the eye. Where had this question come from? "Never felt better! Why?" He puffed his chest out to show his strength, though it was a wasted gesture as Misao was gazing elsewhere.

"Yoshi said you went to the garden last night."

Okina frowned. Yoshi? Oh, right, the night sentry guarding Aoshi and Misao.

Misao continued, not noticing his expression. "You only do that when you're planting or worrying. I just wanted to make sure everything is okay." They had stopped just short of the entrance to the kitchen and she finally turned her gaze at him. For a moment, she looked more like a vulnerable child than the confident Okashira persona she had been projecting. "With Aoshi-sama still hurt and in pain, I need you more than ever. To help me and all."

Okina couldn't speak for a moment, remembering that Misao was, in essence, still a child and new at this. He could recognize the heavy burden placed on her untried shoulders that demanded far more wisdom than she had at her age. "Don't worry, my pretty Misao," he finally managed to say. "I'm not going anywhere." Then, because it was just too weird to be this serious as advisor to Okashira instead of grandfather to granddaughter, he offered her a leery grin. "Besides, I'm still waiting for my great-grandchild to be born. You will be a dutiful girl and give me a few of them, won't you?"

Instead of a fiery blush and maybe some head smacking that Okina expected, Misao only looked more thoughtful. "We'll work on it, Jiya." And with that, she stepped into the kitchen.

* * *

_AN: Please see my profile for update status on this story and others._  



	3. Chapter 3: Loyalty

_ Three weeks and 1 day ago_

Okina surveyed the Okashira's office with a frown. Misao was asleep, her head on the desk. She was drooling on a scroll and looking far younger than nineteen years of age. Definitely not how the Okashira should be looking.

Beside him, Aoshi didn't blink twice but merely stepped forward to gently shake her awake. "Misao," he said. "Wake up."

Slowly, she blinked her eyes several times before they finally opened to reveal sleepy cerulean orbs. Sitting up, she stifled a yawn with one hand and rubbed her eyes. "Aoshi-sama?" she said drowsily.

"You should have come up to bed if you were tired, Misao," Aoshi said.

"I only meant to close my eyes for a minute," she mumbled, glancing at the messy papers strewn across her desk. She frowned at the disorganization. When did her desk look like it was hit by a tornado? The blunt reality of paperwork woke her up like nothing else did, albeit grumpily. "Is it morning already?"

"It's _been_ morning for several hours now," Okina said dryly. "I gather you were working on logging those reports?"

"_And_ the Aoiya budget _and_ the supplies request _and_ the personnel transfer papers …" Misao sighed and rubbed her temples with the tips of her fingers. "Does this ever end?" she asked in despair.

"No," both men answered at the same time.

"Aaaagh!" Misao clutched her aching head, shaking it in furious denial. "I can't concentrate on everything at once! I've got a possible security situation but that keeps getting interrupted by stupid things like 'the Aoiya needs to budget for more horseradishes for next year's vegetable ration' or 'Izuko of Yokohama wants to transfer to Nagasaki to be with his fiancée' or something equally stupid. I need more time!"

"Misao, you merely need to learn how to manage the time you have," Aoshi interrupted before his wife went on a twenty minute rant on the impossibility of the position. "Recognize, prioritize, organize, and execute," he recited solemnly.

Misao lowered her hands and stared at Aoshi as if he had grown an extra appendage. "Aoshi-sama, you've just achieved a new level of stuffiness that I never knew existed, even for you."

Aoshi gave her one of those narrow-eyed looks that conveyed he didn't appreciate her comment. The truth hurt, sometimes.

"He's right, Misao," Okina said. "Every leader before you has been able to handle what you're going through – and then some. The only way your position is unique is that it is an era of peace, which means less is happening. Therefore, theoretically, you should have more time to devote to everything." He sighed and shook his head. "We can't have an Okashira so disorganized that she can't even handle multiple situations at once. If you're feeling that overwhelmed, Misao, perhaps you should consider stepping down."

Aoshi shot Okina a look that could only be described as startled. Did the old man have a death wish? Why would he say such a thing, especially to Misao of all people?

As the taller man expected, his wife did not take that suggestion very graciously. "Jiya!" Misao yelled, jumping up onto her chair in her anger. "How can you even suggest that? The Oniwabanshu is my birthright! _I'm_ the Okashira and I'll let you know if I want to resign!"

"Just because your family name happens to be Makimachi doesn't mean you're right for the position, Misao," Okina said, apparently unperturbed at her anger. "It's the person that matters, not the blood." He nodded towards Aoshi. "Ask your husband."

Aoshi narrowed his eyes at his former mentor. He did _not_ want to get in the middle of this argument. He didn't particularly consider himself cowardly in a fight, but a prudent man knew when to run. Now would be one of those times.

But before Aoshi could even twitch a muscle, Misao switched her scowl in his direction. "So _you're_ saying I can't do this job?" she said accusingly. "Well, I'll show you both that you're wrong!" She hopped off the chair and stormed out of the room.

Aoshi exhaled slowly and turned to Okina. "Your wish to have great-grandchildren may have to wait a while longer if you keep provoking Misao that way." _And if you keep getting me involved in these arguments,_ he added silently.

Okina cackled. "My pretty Misao can't hold a grudge to save her life. She'll come around soon enough. In the meantime, it'll give her enough motivation to finish the paperwork that's piling up."

"That would require her to be in this office, would it not?"

The old man frowned and looked around. "Hmm, hadn't thought of that."

At that moment, Misao stomped back in. "Get out," she said grumpily. "I have work to do. And _no one_ bother me until I say so."

---------------------

Omasu and Shiro departed an hour later to investigate the rumors about the rogue shinobi. Misao finished logging the reports for the past two weeks. She had, at least, managed to finish the budget report for the Aoiya last night and gave it to Okon. She then tackled the supplies request for each branch.

Really, who knew shinobi ate so much food or needed new clothes in such little time? During the times of peace, most of the Oniwabanshu had their own means to support themselves but as the main branch, Misao was obligated to provide whatever was needed.

It was surprisingly satisfying to organize everything into a smooth finish. Sure, there were a lot of things that confused her but since Misao was bent on proving to her grandfather and husband that she could be a good Okashira, she dogged through it all. By the time she finished reading the last of the paperwork, it was nearly midnight.

Aoshi knocked on the door before opening it to enter the office. "Misao, it's late."

She stifled a yawn and set the scroll down. "Yeah, I know. I'll be up in a minute. I just want to finish this report."

Aoshi studied her desk, which was much neater than it had been this morning and far more devoid of paper as well. "How far did you get?"

Misao tilted her chin up proudly. "I finished _everything_," she said triumphantly. Take that, Aoshi-sama!

But he merely nodded, as if expecting such a response. "Very good. I will be meditating until you come upstairs, then."

Misao scowled at her husband's lack of reaction as he left. _Stupid cold exterior_, she thought grumpily. He could at least have praised her for her diligence. Sometimes it was trying to be married to a man who wouldn't react even if his hand was being sliced to ribbons.

A wicked grin crept up on her lips. There was, at least, _one_ way of getting a reaction out of him. With a happy wriggle in her seat, she turned back to her desk and picked up her brush. She would jot off a quick note and go to bed to make it happen.

Spying from the shoji he left slightly ajar, Aoshi couldn't help a small smirk forming at the corner of his lips as he watched his wife. She was so predictable, responding exactly as he expected she would to his lack of reaction. The sly grin that was so Misao indicated she was planning something pleasurable for them both. Exactly what he had planned.

It would be the last time Aoshi would see Misao smile that way for three weeks.

* * *

_Now_

Okon left for the capital that afternoon with the instructions to meet with the head of the Tokyo branch and find out who had ordered the weapons and cloth and why. She was also to contact Sugarplum for suspicious rumors about the rogue shinobi and, if possible, investigate them discreetly. By the time she left for the train station, Misao had cautioned her at least fifteen times to be careful, even of other fellow Oniwabanshu members. The good-intentioned warnings exasperated the older woman to no end. "I've done missions before, Misao!" Okon had exclaimed before leaving for the train station in a huff.

Misao knew that, but this time the threat was an unknown enemy who had attacked her family member once. They would not hesitate to try and kill again.

With yet another member of her close-knit family gone, possibly into danger, Misao knew she wouldn't be able to sleep well. Even after Aoshi had drifted off, she tried – really tried – to do the same. Finally giving it up as a lost cause, she arose and dressed in her uniform. Slipping out of the room, she nodded to Yoshi in greeting before heading downstairs to her office.

Sitting in the relative silence of the Aoiya, Misao lit several fat candles arranged on her desk. When the flames leapt to shed its light, she leaned back in her chair and stared thoughtfully at the scroll hanging on the wall, framed by the dancing shadows the candle created. Jiya had told once told her that her blood grandfather had hung it up on his own office wall. The characters were familiar as she had traced them with her finger for years, wondering and trying to remember her family. The words comforted her during those nights when she had cried for the lost embrace of her mother or the comforting deep voice of her father. It was a simple saying, with a twist the former Makimachi Okashira had added: 'Blood is thicker than water, but loyalty is more precious than blood.'

Her grandfather had valued the loyalty of his people. In return for this trust, he tried to protect them to the best of his ability. He had reminded himself of this every day when he looked at the wall scroll. Misao understood now why he did so; to fail the people who followed her so faithfully was not even a choice.

She sighed and reached up to rub her forehead absently, the pressure from her responsibilities weighing on her shoulders. But now was not the time to indulge in self-pity. Forcfully pulling her thoughts back to the situation at hand, Misao straightened up in her chair and reached for a rolled up parchment. She unfurled the paper and read it again for the sixteenth time since receiving it earlier in the evening. The message was quite disturbing: a group of rogue shinobi had attacked a police compound in Osaka and had stolen a large cache of weapons. The alarming part was that some of the ninja were suspected to be Oniwabanshu members.

Misao pursed her lips, considering the circumstances. She had discussed the situation with Jiya but hadn't come to a satisfactory conclusion on what to do. It was obvious that even her own organization wasn't immune to the changes that were happening.

After the establishment of the Meiji government, Misao could remember many of the remaining Oniwabanshu members decided to retire, continuing on in the jobs their cover had provided for them. There were now only about four dozen members remaining scattered among the larger cities, compared to the near two hundred thirteen years ago. Once Misao had become Okashira, she had made an effort to travel around and greet each member personally, aware that her self-declaration as leader was meaningless if they had no confidence in her. As Jiya had pointed out, her surname meant nothing to them.

She hadn't received any disturbing reactions from people, not that she could remember. Misao frowned as she tried to recall the visits from three years ago. Nothing strange had come to mind. Most of them were skeptical, of course, but there were also old-timers like her adopted grandfather who had enough faith in Misao (or at least faith in Jiya, whom they knew wouldn't allow someone incompetent as Okashira) to give her benefit of the doubt. Overall, the visits had gone very well.

So perhaps this sudden influx of restless, rogue shinobi was a recent occurrence. Misao sighed and tossed the scroll aside; _that_ conclusion didn't much help her at all. "I suppose I should write a letter to the branch head and ask them to initiate an investigation," she mumbled to herself. What else could she do? Without more evidence and without any leads, all she think of was to gather as much information as possible. But it seemed as though she couldn't even trust her own ninjas anymore. Not in Tokyo and not, Misao admitted to herself, anywhere else.

"Argh!" Misao wanted to bang her head on the table but that would end up giving her a headache. The only people she could depend were right here in the Aoiya but there was no way the five of them would be able to cover all the branches of the Oniwabanshu by themselves. What other choice did she have but to cautiously rely on them until more information came in otherwise?

Reaching for clean paper and a brush, Misao began to compose her message. After that was finished, she wrote another letter to Saitoh, asking for further information on the attack. Although the former Shinsengumi member was based in Tokyo, Misao didn't doubt for a minute that he would know the most current news in all of Japan. The man was that dedicated. Or obsessed, whatever you wanted to call it.

Plus, Saitoh would be able to confirm whether or not the Osaka branch leader was telling the truth in his investigation.

Once the ink had been dried on both papers, Misao rolled them up, sealed it with her signet stamp, and set them aside to be sent later. She then focused herself on the paperwork which would multiply like magic between now and dusk.

With the more difficult Oniwabanshu business out of the way, Misao found she could concentrate more easily on the rest of the items demanding her attention. She immersed herself with all the reports with the same fierce concentration she was developing when someone knocked on her door.

At her distracted command, the shoji slid open and Okina poked his head in. "You look terrible," the old man informed her bluntly as he studied her wan face. "Did you get any sleep at all?"

Misao sent him a half-hearted, baleful look. "First you complained that I didn't spend enough time working. Now you're saying I'm working too hard. Make up your mind!"

Okina clucked his tongue. "I didn't say to half-kill yourself in the process. What's wrong?"

"Nothing. I just couldn't sleep, that's all." Misao wrote down the necessary comments before setting the paper aside. Setting down the brush, she took a moment to stifle a yawn and stretch her arms out. "What time is it, anyway?"

"Just a little past dawn. Why couldn't you sleep?"

Misao groaned. It was just like Jiya to persist where attention was not wanted. "I had a lot on my mind," she said carelessly with a shrug. "I doubt I'm the first person who couldn't sleep through the night. Stop worrying so much." Then, before the old man could pester her with further questions, she asked, "Is Aoshi-sama still asleep?"

Okina shot her a look; he knew she was changing the subject but decided to let it go. For now. "Yes. Garo is on duty now."

"Genjo," Misao said absently as she picked up another scroll from her desk. "His name is Genjo."

"Genjo, right," Okina agreed. Really, he was just too old to be expected to remember everyone's names.

"He's fairly new, isn't he? Transferred from Ibaraki City in the Osaka prefecture about seven months ago?"

"That sounds about right," Okina said slowly. He peered closely at the young woman still scanning the paper in her hand. "What about it?"

Misao glanced at the scroll she had tossed aside hours ago. "Maybe he knows someone who might have participated in the weapons raid."

The old man heaved a sigh at her words, suddenly looking his seventy-odd years. "So you think some of the Oniwabanshu members could be involved?"

"I hope not, but I can't go on hope alone." Looking frustrated, Misao resisted the urge to kick her desk – she knew from past experience it wouldn't do anything but give her a bruise the next day. "There's something big that's happening, Jiya. It's happening right under our noses and we can't do a thing about it. I just wish we knew what's going on!"

"I do too, my pretty Misao." Okina sighed again and looked at the wall scroll. The meaning hadn't changed in all the years it hung in the Okashira's office. "I do, too."

--------------------

They were eating breakfast when Aoshi appeared in the dining area, panting slightly from the excursion. Five pairs of eyes blinked as the tall man made his way to his usual seat. "I'm sorry I'm late for the meal," he said as he tried to gracefully folded himself onto a tatami mat. He actually just flopped onto it, but that was all right, so long as he didn't fall sideways or something equally embarrassing.

Everyone stared at him in amazement as he moved to pick up his chopsticks. Aware that every eye was on him, Aoshi glanced around the sea of faces. "Is there something wrong?" he inquired blandly, using the time to subtly catch his breath. A bead of sweat rolled down the back of his neck and down his shirt and he was grateful no one saw it.

"Um," Misao began but Okina broke in.

"No, nothing at all," the old man said cheerfully. "It's good to see you up and about, Aoshi! All that lazing around in bed during the morning really isn't very healthy for you, you know. Misao, shouldn't you be serving your husband?" He emphasized his words, hoping she would be able to pick it up.

Everyone else took their cue from Okina and resumed eating. All except Misao, who was staring at her grandfather as if he was speaking in a different language. After a long moment, realization finally dawned on her face and she nodded hurriedly.

"Right, right! Um, Aoshi-sama, what would you like to eat?" Before he could protest, Misao snatched his plate up, chopsticks poised to get him whatever side dish he preferred.

Exasperation warred with secret amusement at how carefully everyone was still treating him. It was times like this when Aoshi wanted everyone to stop considering him an invalid and more like a human again. But he had to admit his body was still thrumming with pain and he probably wouldn't be able to manage the dexterity required to use his chopsticks throughout the whole meal. And Okina knew that; hence, his reason for hinting at Misao to do her 'duty'. Aoshi resigned himself to more coddling. "A little bit of everything, please, Misao."

Like an obedient wife, Misao heaped the portions onto his plate and set it before him. But she didn't seem satisfied by that small act and hovered over his food like an anxious bee. "Do you want me to feed you?" she asked solicitously.

Omasu coughed and quickly set her chopsticks down, murmuring an apology while picking up her teacup. Kuro had to pound Shiro's back as the bigger man choked on his rice. Okina beamed at his granddaughter in approval.

Aoshi glanced around the table before focusing his attention back to his wife. "No, thank you, Misao. I'm certain I can do it myself," he said rather dryly. As if to prove his point, he began to eat quietly, ignoring the hacking Shiro.

Undeterred, Misao kept a sharp eye on him. She was watching him intently, which actually unnerved Aoshi to the point that he was losing his appetite. As if reading his mind, Okina finally spoke as he took pity on his former student.

"Misao, you need to finish your meal, too," the old man said gently. "You have a long day ahead of you and since you didn't get much sleep, you'll need to keep your energy up in other ways."

That comment caused Aoshi to send a sharp look at his wife, who squirmed uncomfortably. "Yes, Jiya," she said meekly and began eating her own food. She refused to look at her husband. She didn't need to, since she could all but feel that piercing glare boring at the side of her head.

"And Aoshi, we'll need you and your guard to come by the office before you leave for the temple," Okina continued as if he didn't realize the sudden tension arising from the couple. "We have a few questions to ask Giro –"

"Genjo," Misao interrupted.

Okina didn't miss a beat. "– Genjo about Osaka."

At that, Aoshi swung his gaze to Okina. "What happened in Osaka?"

The old man looked at Misao who was trying to look extremely busy chewing on her rice. He sighed; no matter how mature Misao might have grown, she was still like a child in her own way. "Rogue shinobi stole a large cache of weapons from the police department. Our source says some of the Oniwaban ninjas might be involved."

A muscle twitched at Aoshi's jaw at the news. "I see," he said, laying down his chopsticks. "We'll need to send someone to investigate this matter. Someone who can get further news from the police, and preferably even look at the area where the weapons were stolen as well."

Misao finally looked up from her food. "Um, already done, Aoshi-sama."

Her husband sent her a sharp look. Gazes locked as they seemed to measure one another. Finally, Aoshi slowly relaxed and his expression reverted back to its usual impassive self. "Of course you did, Misao. Forgive me, I didn't mean to imply you were lax in your duties."

"Certainly," Misao murmured and set her own chopsticks down. "Excuse me, I should get back to work. Please be careful when you go to the temple, Aoshi-sama. And don't forget to stop by with Genjo before you leave so we can question him. Jiya, I'll see you in the office after you finish eating."

There was silence long after Misao left the kitchen. Kuro, Shiro, and Omasu all traded uneasy glances with one other before looking at Okina reflexively. The old man was stroking his long goatee thoughtfully, watching Aoshi with knowing eyes.

"She is not upset with you. She understands what you are feeling."

Aoshi slowly met his former mentor's gaze. "Aa. I know." He didn't say anything more and braced his hands on the table to stand up, rattling the dishes slightly with his movement. "I'll be along shortly with Genjo, Okina." With a nod to the rest, he limped off to his room.

---------------------

Naturally, Genjo claimed neither he nor his former comrades would ever consider betraying the Oniwabanshu. With his earnest, pleading expression and his inability to dissimilate, Misao was inclined to believe the youth when he insisted he knew nothing. A quick glance at Jiya told her the old man agreed with her assessment. "All right, Genjo, I appreciate your answers. Please wait out in the hall for Aoshi-sama."

The young shinobi nodded, offered a hasty bow, and exited the room, all without looking at anyone in the eye.

Misao sighed. "I guess I should tell him not to blab this to anyone else." It would normally be understood between a ninja and his leader but she had a feeling she would need to actually say so for it to be done.

"I'll inform him," Aoshi said, finally speaking for the first time.

She darted a quick look in his direction before nodding. "Thank you." Picking up her brush, she began to fiddle with it absently. "About breakfast," she began uneasily.

"I overstepped my boundaries," he said quietly, interrupting her. "I apologize."

Surprise flickered on her face, shattering that blank look Misao kept on these days. "No, that's not … I mean …" She squirmed in her seat and glowered at the writing implement in her hand as if it had caused her stutter. Taking a deep breath to steady herself, Misao looked back up to her husband. "Thank you. For making sure I'm doing the right thing." She glanced at the wall scroll briefly. "For helping me become the leader the Oniwabanshu deserves. For my people." Here, she smiled at him, a tentative offer. "For our people."

Aoshi stared at Misao for a long moment, slightly stunned. He had not expected such words coming from her mouth.

But then again, perhaps he should have. After all, the past three weeks had brought about changes. Not only to Misao, but to them all. Even him.

So he returned her smile with a small one of his own and spoke. "You are welcome."

* * *

_AN: Cheese galore! I need to go write some angst or something to make up for the utter sugar for this ending. (On the upside, I did update a couple days earlier than planned.) This is why I need a beta, who would (ostensibly) stop me from writing so much sap. If you're interested, drop me a line. Otherwise, please check my profile for future updates. Oh, and if the switching of time is confusing, please let me know. It will be very imperative later on in the story.  
_


	4. Chapter 4: Attempt

_Warning: Rated T for instances of blood and gore and suggestion of adult themes. Please read at your own risk._

_

* * *

Three weeks ago – The day of The Attempt_

Even after the strenuous bout of lovemaking, Misao couldn't sleep.

Her clothes were strewn against the wall and under the open window, tossed haphazardly practically the moment she had entered the room, courtesy of her husband's impatience. But that had been hours ago and as tired as she was, no matter how long she squeezed her eyes shut, she couldn't fall asleep.

Misao laid there in the futon, listening to Aoshi-sama breathing deeply as he slumbered, and watched the darkened sky. There was no moon tonight; the stars twinkled weakly as the evening shadows threatened to overcome their existence. Even the warm air was motionless as it lazily drifted into the room through the open pane. The Aoiya was so still she could hear a thump and someone turning in their sleep somewhere down the hall; it was probably Kuro. Shiro, who had to share a blanket with him one time during a mission when supplies were short, complained that Kuro moved around in his sleep and kicked. Hard. He swore he had bruises on his shin that wouldn't fade for a month.

Misao had to smile that memory. But worry and stress soon erased the humorous moment from her mind and she went back to brooding. The paperwork she had just completed left a heavy impression of duty on her. Omasu and Shiro leaving for a mission with unpredictable and possibly dangerous situations just plain worried her. Despite Jiya's concerns that she took her duties too lightly (not voiced to her directly but there nevertheless), Misao knew very well the responsibilities she carried as Okashira. There were times when she tried not to worry about it; after all, it didn't help her any. And then there were times when she couldn't help being so anxious.

Tonight definitely reflected the latter.

There were so many decisions to make and not enough time to consider every option available. Misao was fast realizing that being the leader meant making the best decision for your people in the least amount of time possible. But what if she made a mistake? It wasn't as if she would be the only one affected; it could very well take the life of one of her people. How could she live with herself if someone died because of a choice _she_ made?

And who was she really, anyway, to make such decisions? Oh, she reminded Jiya often enough that she was a Makimachi, but that didn't mean she had inherited her blood grandfather's leadership skills. In fact, the pressure seemed twice as great; she had to live up to the legendary legacy of her surname.

Misao stifled a groan and flopped to her side so her back was to her sleeping husband. Luckily, she didn't really have to worry about waking him up; after months of sleeplessness from waking up every time she so much as twitched, Aoshi finally learned to ignore most movement within the futon.

Three years. It had been three years since she had declared herself Okashira in Aoshi-sama's absence. During those years, the most serious decision she had to make was whether or not to shut down the one-person Oniwabanshu branch on Mount Fuji (which she did since no one ever ventured up there anyway) or if they should build the Aoiya out to accommodate the increasing number of restaurant patrons (which they didn't because buying the additional land was far too expensive).

But with rogue shinobi increasing in startling numbers, and with constant correspondence with Saitoh over the future of the Oniwabanshu (not to mention some alarming and continuous nightmares about attacking mutant vegetables in the Aoiya kitchen), Misao was starting to feel she was getting in over her head.

Of course, Jiya and Aoshi advised her every step of the way, but ultimately the decision was hers. And Misao was terrified that she would choose the wrong option and someone else would suffer the consequences.

She would never, even under the threat of having her hair shorn off, admit to her fears to anyone, even to her husband. But that still didn't change the truth.

Misao had once asked Aoshi if he had ever felt that way. He had merely given her an odd look. He said that no one had ever questioned his decisions and his orders were carried out without delay. Any second-guessing the Okashira would result in instant death.

Not exactly what Misao wanted to hear, but she figured during war time, the rules were different. And he had said the same to her.

_"Just remember that I was the Okashira during the Revolution. I will be remembered as the man who led the Oniwabanshu in times of war. But you, Misao, will be remembered as the leader who led us in times of peace."_

That might be true, but even in peacetime, people could die. The life of a shinobi was one of uncertainty and one had to trust their leader completely.

As Jiya had pointed out earlier (though rather rudely, in Misao's opinion), she always had the option of resigning. Aoshi-sama could take over again. He had not challenged Misao for the role, even after he finally found whatever answers he was looking for during his post-Shishio meditation. Instead, especially after they had wed, he seemed content in his position as husband and advisor.

Misao had always wondered why he never demanded the role back. But she never found the courage to ask him. The past was almost taboo and not to be mentioned, not even from her.

Of course, there were times when she loved being Okashira. It gave her an excuse to travel around Japan and meet with the branch leaders. She could ultimately boss her elders around. People in Kyoto recognized and respected her. She had (sort of) earned Saitoh's respect as the Oniwabanshu had supplied to him endless amounts of intelligence on criminal activity.

But was it worth all the stress she had to endure? Misao wasn't so sure.

She glowered at the far wall she was facing. This was ridiculous. Her mind was running in circles and she didn't feel the least bit sleepy. How was she going to do her work if she was going to be drowsy all day?

With a huff, Misao rolled onto her back again to stare at the ceiling. Her eyes had long adjusted to the darkness and she could see the outlines of the room. Shadows writhed within the darkness, for a moment fleeting past the window to swallow the stars from view. She absently heard another light thump, this one much closer.

So close, in fact, it sounded like it came from her room.

The young Okashira frowned in confusion, studying the play of shadows intently as dark silhouettes seemed to draw closer. Next to her, Aoshi stirred as unease pushed him into waking consciousness. Years of experience and training had taught him to trust his instincts and now it was telling him that something wasn't right. "Misao?" he whispered, his voice a thread above being heard.

There was no warning except a shadow falling over him, blocking out the faint light from the window. Before he could even move, Aoshi heard the sharp whistle of air being displaced. He grunted from the impact as something sharp embedded itself in his chest with a sickening thud and squelch of tearing flesh. Shock first, then searing pain flared through his body like an overwhelming wave. The weapon was ripped out without ceremony and near unbearable agony replaced it. Aoshi lashed out with his hands and legs, hoping to catch his assailant with one of his limbs before he attacked again. Unfortunately, his legs tangled itself on the blanket and his arms felt heavier than normal. When he felt outpouring of hot, sticky liquid running down his side, he realized why.

When the kunai descended yet again, Aoshi tried to turn away from the attack but it was useless. No matter how many times he tried to force himself to move, he couldn't. The blade bit into his body again and again, causing continuous flashes of pain and white hot heat to flood his body. Sweat broke out on his forehead as he desperately tried to fight back, to breathe without torture. Amidst the struggle with his unknown foe, Aoshi thought of Misao. Who knew what was happening to her?

But he had no time to wonder for long. An insidious whisper, so full of hate and scorn reached his ears. "Die, Shinomori," it breathed, brushing against his heated skin, causing another curl of pain to ripple throughout his body. Die? He couldn't die, there was too much left to do. He had a family to protect, friends to look after. And yet Aoshi had never felt so tired in his life, not even after that second decisive battle with Battousai which had left his body aching for months but his mind clearer than a summer day in Kyoto. In this case, his head felt fuzzy and disconnected from his physical self and not at all refreshed. Was this how it felt to be dying?

Black spots began to swarm in his vision with alarming frequency. He tried to keep awake, tried to dispel the hazy fog clouding his mind, but for once his brain refused to obey the sharp command. The beckoning darkness, promising ease from the pain, called so strongly to him Aoshi could no longer resist. In the end, he finally succumbed to the shadows and slipped unconscious.

- - - - -

Misao felt a prickle of disquiet running down her back. She began to sit up when a rush of wind gushed past her. She only realized what was happening when she heard the unmistakable sound of a weapon hitting flesh and Aoshi grunting from the impact. The silhouette – which was actually the moving shadow of an attacker – slammed down again with its weapon. Warm liquid sprayed on her as Misao bolted upright and threw herself at the attacker to ward off the next strike.

Or she tried to. Hands caught her before could even move from the futon, squeezing her arms painfully. She cursed herself for not realizing there was someone else was there – where the hell did they come from anyway? She had been preoccupied, certainly, but not so much that she wouldn't notice two intruders enter the room! _Shinobi …?_

In the back of her mind, Misao made the absent mental note to rework the security of the Aoiya later. Satisfied at the reminder, she returned her attention to the battle at hand. Now, where was she? Oh, right, being restrained.

Misao struggled in her captor's grasp and tried to scream but a hand moved from her arm to her mouth as she was drawn against his chest, a vise-like grip pinning her arms down so hard she knew it would bruise. The free hand moved to fondle her obscenely – easily done since she was naked – but she barely felt it. Instead, she watched in horror as the sharp knife made a third (or perhaps fourth? she had lost count) trip downward into her still husband.

"Die, Shinomori," a voice whispered as the kunai descended yet again.

_No!_ the voice in her head screamed. Her mind was jumbled and racing in all different directions and Misao felt numb all over. She didn't even realize she had stopped struggling. She had no idea how long she stayed that way, staring at the bloodied futon. Aoshi-sama was dead.

He was dead.

Dead, dead, dead.

Something, almost like a puzzle, snapped together in her mind as she repeated the litany to herself. It was as if the horrible realization caused the last piece to fall into place and her brain began calculated responses. Within herself, Misao found a stillness that enabled her to order her thoughts into a cohesive picture, fighting back the haze that threatened to consume her.

Her mind focused on the matter at hand. First order of things: revenge.

In order to achieve that goal, her brain reasoned she had to be free from her attacker. Analyzing the situation, Misao decided the fastest course of action and put the plan into motion. First, she fell in a heavy limp into her captor's grasp.

He was cautious. He didn't relax his guard even after her pretend faint. But he did slacken his grip the slightest bit. Almost as an instinct, to catch her in case she fell over.

Big mistake.

Misao leapt into action by surging upwards by springing from her feet. She opened her mouth as wide as possible to bite him. At the same time, she used her right leg to kick behind her. Her leg connected with something solid – she had been hoping to aim at his groin but with the awkward angle she was in, she only managed to hit her captor's thigh.

But her sudden movement did catch him off-guard. And her mouth managed to seize some skin between her teeth. He let go of her and stumbled back, yelping in surprise.

Triumph. Misao dove into a forward somersault and came up crouched on her legs. She lunged for her clothes where she always kept a spare kunai or two. Or twelve.

After all, one never knew when she would be attacked in the safety of her home.

Her hands closed on the familiar cotton gi and she searched through it. Once her fingers hit a familiar hilt, she whipped it out and twisted to throw it at her attacker. She followed up with two more after the first, just in case he was alert enough to block it. He did manage to dodge the first one with a sort of hop to his right, but Misao had been anticipating such a move and had adjusted her next two attacks accordingly. Even in the faint evening night, she could see the throwing knives connect at the man's neck and shoulder with unerring accuracy.

Either he wasn't that well trained or she had hurt him more than she thought. The latter idea didn't really displease Misao. The man crashed to the ground, gurgling and clawing at his throat as crimson liquid spilled down the front of his body in a flowing cascade.

Misao's battle senses didn't allow her to care for an enemy once he was down. So she turned her attention to the next target.

There was one attacker left, the one who had killed her beloved Aoshi-sama. Misao felt the surge of adrenaline course through her body, coupled with anger, hate, and calm. She stood, forgetting the fact that she was naked, forgetting everything but the last remaining man. She picked up three more kunais from her clothes that dangled from her fingers as she turned to face the murderer of her husband. She vaguely wondered why he didn't attack. Surely he realized what had happened to his partner.

But all he did was kneel there, staring at the dead body.

Unacceptable. He had no right to be even near Aoshi-sama.

Misao spoke, not even recognizing the cold tone as her own voice. "Stand up."

He didn't move for a long moment but he finally turned his body to look at her. The dim light only revealed dark eyes shining at her, empty and devoid of emotion. The blank stare would have unnerved Misao had she cared about anything but revenge. "Shinomori had to die," he said, as if that explained it all. From his position on the floor, their eyes were level, indicating he was taller than her when standing. He sounded young, definitely no older than she was.

Strength suffusing anger surged through her veins at his words – _his stupid reasoning, as if she cared _why_ he was doing this!_ – yet she kept a tight rein on her emotions. Now was not the time to fly off the handle. If she did, she would kill him too quickly. No, he had to suffer.

For a very, _very_ long time.

So Misao spoke, needing him to attack. She wanted him to attack so she could retaliate. "I'm a Shinomori, too."

She felt more than saw him nod. "Yes. Shinomori must die." He stood up and regripped the bloody kunai in his hand. He was a head and a half taller than she was, and no doubt much stronger. "Die, Shinomori."

She would gladly do so. But first, she would extract revenge for Aoshi-sama.

He came at her with a straight thrust aimed for her chest. Misao dodged to the right and used one of her own kunai to slash at his side. With surprising dexterity, Dark Eyes spun towards her and caught the blade with his own weapon before it touched him. Without pausing, he reached out with his free hand to grab her throat but she backpedaled, nearly tripping over her clothes in her haste. He advanced until Misao hit the wall with her back. Immediately he lurched forward to slam his kunai into her. She jerked to the right again, almost too late, and winced as she felt the blade slide and cut her left arm. As his dagger hit the wall, Misao turned slightly and drove her own kunai into his wrist. She pushed it with all her might.

A strangled scream ripped from his throat, Dark Eyes' hand instantly loosening its grip on his weapon. Misao tore away from the wall and took advantage of the distraction, kicking him in the groin. A dirty move? She couldn't quite muster up the desire to care.

Dark Eyes crumbled to the ground on his knees, making a strange, wheezing sound. She gave him no chance to recover, instead whipping around to his back and holding another kunai underneath his chin.

She leaned forward to whisper in his ear, ignoring the harsh breathing sound he was making. "Don't even twitch or I'll cut your throat." She had to resist the impulse to run the sharp edge across his neck anyway, almost hoping he would move so she could feel the life flow from him.

Just as he watched Aoshi-sama die.

There was a muffled thump right outside her room and Misao only had a split second warning before the shoji was slammed open. The paper door nearly fell off from its place as a lantern was lit and held up. The sudden light caused spots in the Okashira's vision but she all she did was blink, holding her dagger steady. More attackers?

No, it was Okina who was surveying the room. The others peered over his shoulders and gasped. Someone – the silhouette looked like Okon – broke apart and disappeared, yelling something about a doctor.

Misao wanted to tell her that it was too late, Aoshi-sama was already dead. But she couldn't speak. She merely clutched the shoulder of the man in front of her, the kunai still unwavering in her grip.

Kuro approached her cautiously, eying the wild look in Misao's eyes with unease. "I'll take custody of him, Okashira," he said far more respectably than he usually did. Carefully, slowly, he forcefully removed the dagger from Dark Eyes' throat before dragging him out of the room. The intruder did not attempt to struggle or make any sound, instead staring at Misao with his unnerving gaze even as he left.

Okina picked up Misao's discarded yukata and helped her put it on while tactfully avoiding looking at her until she was somewhat decently covered. As she tied the sash around her hips with wooden movements, he went to Aoshi's side, looking him over silently. Then,

"Misao. Come over here."

The young woman snapped her head to Okina, who had knelt beside Aoshi. The lantern illuminated the large puddle of blood that spread from the deathly still figure, crimson fingers seeping into the futon. With the battle over, her emotions were once again stealing back into place, attacking in full force. Misao could already feel her heart literally sundering as she saw the broken body of her husband.

"Misao, I said _come here_."

That tone of voice Okina used was quite rare, rare enough for Misao to slowly crawl over to her grandfather. It was the same tone he used when discussing serious Oniwaban business that she didn't want to talk about. Was he going to make her do some sort of stupid I-have-no-emotions-because-I'm-the-Okashira test by looking at Aoshi-sama in his death? Because if so, she was going to slam her last kunai into the old man.

But to her surprise, Okina merely seized her fingers and plunged them down directly on a stab wound. "There. Press and hold firmly. Don't let up on the pressure." Moving around to the other side, he studied the bloodied body for another moment before putting his hands on Aoshi's right shoulder. Without looking up, he said more gently, "Wipe away your tears, Misao. Aoshi isn't dead. He's alive."

Her brain had all but shut down, unable to assimilate the truth. So of course his words didn't register at first. "Alive?" she repeated dumbly, following Jiya's orders without even thinking about it.

"Alive," he confirmed. "There now, did you think Aoshi would die that easily?" Of course, he didn't add that the stab wounds – four altogether – would have killed a lesser man instantly.

As if to prove the old man's words, a voice spoke just a hair above a whisper. "Misao …"

"Aoshi-sama!" Misao leaned over him. She had to fight back a gasp from his seeing wan face. His lack of coloring was in stark contrast to the splashes of crimson that pooled around his body. "Aoshi-sama," she whispered again, tears filling her eyes.

"Don't … cry, Misao," he rasped. "Can hear tears … in … voice."

"Stop talking, Aoshi, you're making things worse," Okina commanded. "The kunai punctured a lung and you talking will make it fill with blood even faster. Just lie there and take shallow breaths but don't move. Misao, make sure he doesn't even so much as move a finger."

"Please stay still, Aoshi-sama," she said softly. "Let me breathe with you." As she spoke, a flicker of hope rose in her wrangled heart. Jiya was right; as long as he was alive, Aoshi-sama wouldn't give in to death so easily.

They stayed that way until the doctor burst into the room with Okon at his heels. He dropped down next to Misao and murmured a word of approval at Okina's actions. "Here now, let me see him, pretty Misao."

Doctor Harabi, whom the Okashira realized was one of Jiya's sake swilling friends, gently but firmly pushed her aside and studied the wounds intently despite the profuse amount of blood. He nodded once to himself and glanced at Misao. His dark eyes assessed her briefly before he nodded to himself. "I'm going to need warm water. And hot water. Lots of it. Keep it coming."

Misao blinked at him, apparently not getting the hint, but Okon tugged on the younger woman's shoulder. "Come on, I'm going to need your help in the kitchen."

"I'll send for you the moment anything happens," Harabi promised. "But all I'm going to do now is to wipe the blood away and start on the sutures. It's going to take a long time and I need everything to be as sterile as possible. With wounds such as these, infection is a very real possibility."

Misao allowed Okon to drag her downstairs. There, the older shinobi started a fire and put a large kettle on to boil some water. She then got a basin of lukewarm water and sat Misao down on a stool. "Let's see where you're hurt," she said.

"It's just a scratch on my arm," Misao said woodenly. Panic suddenly rose to her throat, nearly choking the breath from her body. What if Aoshi-sama called for her and she wasn't there and he thought she left him? What if he died before Dr. Harabi could call to her? Then she'd never be able to speak to him again. With these thoughts, Misao stood up, intending to go back to her husband's side.

But Okon forced her back down, giving the younger girl she had always thought of as a sister a firm look. "Stop worrying so much. Dr. Harabi is very good and he'll take care of Aoshi. The best thing for you to do is to let me tend to your wounds so you'll be strong enough to take care of your husband in the coming weeks."

Misao wavered between Okon's logic and her panicked feelings before acknowledging the truth of her words. She finally slumped back on the stool, eyes fixated on the entrance to the kitchen. As if that would somehow help her see what was going on upstairs. "Okon, is he really going to be okay?" she whispered brokenly. She had to know what the other woman thought of Aoshi-sama's wounds, as if to validate her hope.

The older kunoichi sighed softly as she examined Misao for other wounds before going to work on the cut on Misao's left arm. "I can't say for sure, Misao, but I believe in him. And you should, too. If Aoshi thinks he needs to live on, then I know he'll do his best to come back to us." She just couldn't say in what condition. From the glimpse she had caught earlier, the blood loss was copious and the wounds were quite deep, if not yet fatal. Shaking her head away from the disquieting thoughts, Okon focused on her task and quickly wrapped the bandage around Misao's arm. The ends were tied into a tight knot. "There, you're all set. From what I can tell, the rest of the blood isn't yours."

Misao shook her head slowly. "It's not." Panic threatened to overwhelm her again but she fought the unreasonable fear back; now was not the time to break down. She had to be strong for Aoshi-sama. That's what he would have wanted her to do.

With that thought fueling her, Misao took a deep breath to steady herself. Hopping off the stool, the younger woman leaned over and gave Okon an unexpected hug. "Thanks, Okon. I'll bring up the boiling water to Doctor Harabi. Can you get started on another pot?" Misao pulled the kettle from the fireplace and poured the steaming water in an empty basin. Picking up the water, she hurried out of the kitchen, carrying it upstairs.

Okon looked down at herself and grimaced. Misao's hug had left bloodstains on the previously immaculate garment. She had taken a spare moment to pull on one of Shiro's yukata before running out to fetch the doctor. The large size nearly engulfed her body so she was at least somewhat decently covered, even if it did cause her to trip a few times over the length. She made a mental note to wash it for Shiro with a note of apology. But that would have to wait. For now, Okon silently filled another kettle to boil as she fervently prayed for Aoshi's recovery.

* * *

_AN: Thanks to my beta **Kageharu Kaco** for her patience and time in beta-reading in the midst of school and a broken bone (feel better soon, Kaco!). Any mistakes are entirely my own, including the cruddiness of this chapter. It was extremely hard to write (and rewrite) so any suggestions are welcome to make it better (I doubt it could get any worse). Please see my profile for future updates for this story and others._  



	5. Chapter 5: Aftermath

_**1 day after The Attempt**_

It took the doctor well past dawn to put in the last stitch and announce that he was done. After assuring (and reassuring) Misao and Okina that Aoshi was still alive and was as well as could be expected, he stumbled to the cleanest corner of the room and promptly fell asleep.

But before he passed out, under his careful direction, Harabi, Kuro and Okina had lifted Aoshi enough for the women to remove the stained bedding and replace it with a fresh, clean futon. Kuro repaired the shoji to the best of his ability. Misao, while watching over her husband, scrubbed the floor clean of any traces of blood until her hands were raw. The body of the dead shinobi whom Misao killed was removed. She didn't hear what happened to it after that, nor did she care.

It was almost evening when Okon came to convince Misao to eat while she sat in vigil by Aoshi's side. "Misao, if you don't eat something, you're going to get even sicker than Aoshi, and then who'll take care of him?" the older woman said reasonably. She pushed the tray closer to Misao in hopes of tempting her appetite. "Kuro cooked miso soup just the way you like it, with seaweed."

Misao nodded without looking at the other kunoichi. "Thanks, Okon. I'll have some later." Besides cleaning the room, she hadn't moved from her knelt position next to her husband all day. The others were beginning to suspect that this would get to be a regular pattern.

After a while, Okon gave up and went downstairs in search of her own meal. Left alone again, Misao turned her gaze back to Aoshi, who was still paler than she liked. Every few hours, she coaxed in a few drops of broth the doctor prescribed him, massaging his throat in hopes that he would swallow some. And she did eat the food left out, if only to keep her family from pestering her again. Despite Kuro's best efforts, however, the food tasted like sawdust in her mouth and she had to force every bite down.

While she kept watch, Misao prayed often. Prayed to whatever god was listening, to whatever spirit was lurking about. She prayed for Aoshi to get better. _Please, don't let him die._

It was almost midnight when Okina came in the room. "There you are, my pretty Misao!" he boomed.

Misao merely slanted him a dirty look. Where else would she be?

He, of course, ignored it and sat down next to his granddaughter, watching Aoshi for a long moment. Finally, he turned back to the Okashira and said, "The paperwork is piling up in your office. Last I saw, I could hardly open the door without a mountain of scrolls falling down on me."

In a better mood, Misao would have thought it made a funny picture even if it was more than slightly accurate. But with her husband still near death's door, she wasn't in any mood for any jokes. "So what?" she said shortly.

Okina sighed and shook his head. "Misao, you're still the Okashira."

That got Misao riled up like nothing else had. She exploded, "I don't give a damn about the Oniwabanshu, Jiya!"

She had risen to her knees and shouted so loud she panted from lack of breath. They stared at each other for a long moment without speaking.

Realizing what she had said, Misao slumped to the ground with an inaudible groan. It was at times like these when she wished she would stop and think before speaking. Really, _really_ wished it. But the last thing she wanted to do was to read about someone complaining about the lack of meat in their diet or something. Not when her beloved Aoshi-sama was lying in bed, looking far paler than anyone should look.

Still, Misao could kick herself for not being able to keep her big mouth shut. Of course she cared about the Oniwabanshu. She just didn't want that to get in her way right now.

She saw Okina take a deep breath, which meant he was about to speak. She cringed inwardly, awaiting the backlash of her brash outburst. She had to steel herself for the inevitable 'You aren't worthy to be Okashira' lecture.

He said calmly, "Cursing is not very ladylike, Misao."

What?

Misao stared at the old man as if he had lost his mind – which she thought he might have from all the stress.

He merely reached over to pat her on the hand. "Misao," he said, voice suddenly kind. "I know it's hard to concentrate when the person you love most is in such a critical condition. But your feelings as a wife cannot overpower your responsibilities as a leader. You have to take care of everyone else before you can indulge yourself, even in situations like these." He paused and looked directly into her eyes. "Besides," he added softly, "we still have a prisoner, if you had forgotten."

She _had_ forgotten. Every fiber of her being had concentrated on Aoshi-sama so hard that nothing else came to mind, not even her own health. The man who had nearly killed her husband was somewhere, probably in the cellar of the Aoiya. She hoped – rather viciously – that he was all chained up and the others were feeding him nothing but stale bread and musty water.

Misao sighed, absently reaching over to smooth Aoshi-sama's hair on his brow. The gesture helped calm her nerves some and allowed her to focus on her grandfather's words. Why did Jiya always have to make good points when all she wanted to do was to take care of her husband? She definitely didn't want to leave his side, but she also knew the old man was right. But how could she stay here _and_ take care of Oniwaban business?

_Duh._ Sometimes Misao thought her brain was a little slow when it came to bright ideas. She exhaled slowly and turned back to the expectant man. "All right, Jiya. Bring the paperwork here."

Okina smiled and slowly rose to his feet. "Yes, _Okashira_," he said with a slight bow before leaving.

It only occurred to Misao much later that it was the first time Jiya had directly addressed her by her title.

- - - - -

Misao had stayed up most of the night working her way through the various documents that she half believed was just thrown onto her desk just for someone to get it done. _("You don't want to write up this report? Just toss it in the Okashira's office with the rest of the papers, she won't notice!"_) As Jiya had said, there was a lot to go through but she was actually grateful for something to keep her mind off her more morbid thoughts. Sleep was out of the question even though Misao was completely exhausted.

She glanced up occasionally, alert, as she heard a faint shuffle before realizing it was the guard that Jiya had posted outside the door. With the first assassination attempt failing, it would be safer to assume another one might occur, and soon, while the injured were still healing.

Misao absently scratched the bandage on her left arm, her brow puckered into a frown as she dogged through all the branch reports. Obeying protocol, Omasu and Shiro had sent a brief note stating they reached their destination and would report in with any news of the rogue shinobi as soon as they gathered any information. (They, of course, couldn't be told of the current situation at the Aoiya; not only would it cause them undue worry, but their cover might be compromised.) Despite the dire situation at home, it was important they finish their mission. After all, the rogue shinobi wouldn't rest just because Aoshi was hurt.

Yet another burden to worry about.

Misao sighed and set the last of the scrolls aside, too tired to work anymore. She stared down at the still man in the futon. His breath was quite shallow but he was still alive. She savored those words quietly, knowing in her heart that had something happened to Aoshi-sama, she probably wouldn't have survived it intact. After so many years of waiting and searching for him to come home, and two more of pining for him, she had finally realized her dream of marriage to the only man she could see herself with. It was almost frightening thing, to need someone so much.

Leaning over, Misao brushed his bangs off his forehead gently. She bent close so hier mouth brushed his left ear as she spoke. "Wake up soon, Aoshi-sama," she whispered. "I need you with me."

There was no response, not even a twitch.

Deflated, Misao slumped back in a slouch which would have caused Jiya to have a fit. ("Misao! A shinobi does _not_ look like a wrung-out rag when sitting!") Still, she smiled, though it was only a shadow of what it once was. "I'll wait for you to wake up, Aoshi-sama," she said softly. "You just take all the time you need to rest before you come back to me."

In the meantime, she had some thinking to do. Feeling exhausted but sure she couldn't sleep, Misao crawled to the nearest wall. She stared up at the ceiling as if it would give her some answers as she slumped against the cool wood ("Misao! A shinobi does _not_ sit in such an undignified position!").

Funny. She never realized just how much Jiya's voice was present in her head.

Misao shivered; that could never be a good thing.

There was a soft knock on the door and Misao struggled to sit up, eyebrows lifting in surprise. It was only an hour or two away from dawn, who would still be up this late? Unless, of course, this was assassination attempt, round two, and they had killed the sentry on duty. But then, they wouldn't knock before coming in, would they? Easing a kunai from her waist, she called out softly, "Come in."

The shoji slid open almost soundlessly – Misao made a mental note that Kuro was pretty handy to have around if the doors ever broke – to reveal Okon. "I saw your light and wanted to check in on you and Aoshi," the kuniochi said, equally quiet.

Misao slid the kunai back into place and gestured her inside. She caught a glimpse of the sentry who peered inside briefly before resuming his rigid position on guard. "What are you doing up so late?" she asked the older woman, who settled near her.

Okon shrugged, her gaze sliding to rest on Aoshi. "I keep waking up. I suspect Kuro and Okina are having the same problems as well. What happened here has affected us all deeply."

With a start, Misao realized how true that was. She wasn't the only one that was impacted; it was everyone in the Aoiya. After all, they all considered each other family, with a firm bond that had deepened through missions and trials and years together. It shamed her, to have been wrapped up so much in her own grief that she didn't even consider what the others were going through. "How are you holding up?" she asked.

The older kunoichi didn't respond for a long moment. "I'm fine," she said at last. "We're all fine. I just …" Tears started to leak out from the corner of her eyes, startling Misao. "They almost killed Aoshi and – they almost got you too, Misao!"

Misao could only stare in amazement as steady, practical Okon burst into tears, burying her face in her hands while sobs racked her body. This was … unexpected. Of course, she knew how much her family loved her, but to realize the depth of their feelings was astounding, to say the least.

Scrambling her wits together, Misao finally crawled over to Okon and wrapped her arms around the older woman. "It's all right," she whispered. "We're safe. They didn't get to us." It felt supremely odd to try and comfort the woman who had acted like her older sister for so long but Misao knew Okon needed reassurance. Besides, she was the Okashira, it was her duty to comfort her people in times of despair.

Under Misao's quiet words and soothing pats, Okon finally quieted down. She looked at the younger woman with a sheepish smile as she wiped her eyes. "You must think I've gone insane."

"Of course not!" Misao shook her head furiously. "Kuro and Jiya will never cry, and you're just shedding tears for those of us who can't." She smiled at her and sat back. "Besides, it's a good reminder to me … just how much everyone cares and why I wanted to become the Okashira in the first place."

Okon sighed and patted Misao on the cheek. "You're growing up too fast, Misao." She didn't say anymore for a while, instead looking over at Aoshi. "He looks a little better," she said finally. "He's not as pale as he looked before."

Misao merely hmmed, skeptical about the optimism but unwilling to contradict her. "Okon, can we have breakfast in here tomorrow? I mean, today?"

Surprised, the older woman looked back at her. "Um, I suppose. But why?"

"I need to speak to everyone." Actually, Misao needed to speak with Jiya, but she also wanted to watch Kuro and Okon to see how they were really doing. Besides, it wouldn't hurt to have some close contact with one another, especially during these times.

Okon slanted the young leader a curious look but nodded. "All right, I'll just make something simple." She raised a hand to her mouth to stifle a yawn. "But I suppose before I do that, I should go try to sleep a little more. You should get some rest, too, Misao."

Misao mustered up a tiny smile. "I'll try. Good night." She watched as Okon stood and left the room silently before crawling back to her wall. Settling against the wood panels comfortably, she watched her Aoshi-sama as she planned her next move.

_**Now**_

The moon displayed its full power in the crisp, night air, burning brightly enough for Misao to practice her kempo without lighting a lamp. Sweat beaded on her brow as she ran through the drills Aoshi-sama had taught her long ago, back before he left her in Kyoto with Jiya. She concentrated on her movements to make them sharp and precise. Any error in her form resulted in her starting over again.

She was so intent on her training that she didn't seem to hear the soft shuffle of feet as it approached the garden. Aoshi stopped a few feet away, watching her thrust her hands and feet out in a rhythmic pattern that he recognized and could do in his sleep. Her movements were as graceful as a sleek cat, controlled and deliberate. He shook his head ever so slightly; with a little more training, Misao could probably equal his ability in kempo. Though she would never have the same force behind his attacks, her speed and agility made up for the lack of power.

She finally finished the last drill and bent over with her hands on her knees, panting from the exertion. Misao absently reached up with one arm to wipe the sweat from her brow before straightening and pulling out a kunai for each hand. Breathing in deeply, she began her kunai exercises. The metal glinted in the silvery beams, catching the moonlight to reflect the sharp edge with each graceful movement she made.

Aoshi watched silently as she went through the motions, critiquing her form for any mistakes or weaknesses. Ever since The Attempt, Misao had taken her training even more seriously than before and he could no longer find any flaw in her movements. As she spun, ducked, thrust, and dodged, he caught glimpses of the determination dominant in the cerulean eyes.

His Misao was no longer a little girl or an overgrown child playing Okashira. She was, Aoshi realized in that instant, a true shinobi.

She finally stopped her movements, taking another moment to catch her breath before sheathing her weapons away. "You should be resting, Aoshi-sama," she said quietly, turning in his direction.

Aoshi wondered how long she knew he was there. "I was worried about you," he said.

"I'm fine. I barely had time to train this week and thought I should get in at least an hour before going to bed." Misao wiped her brow again with the sleeve of her uniform and headed towards him. "With everything that's been going on, it's harder to find time for myself."

_And for me_, his thoughts spoke up but Aoshi shoved the regret aside. He knew from experience that the position of Okashira demanded more time than one truly had to spare. "Aa."

"I know I've been ignoring you, too, but … well, you know." She stopped within arms' reach, tilting her head back to look at him with her earnest expression, as if begging for his understanding.

Aoshi slowly reached to cup her cheek in his hand, ignoring the burning sensation that traveled up his arm as he moved. "I know," he said quietly. "I'm proud of you, Misao. You've never faltered in your duties despite the situation. I couldn't have done it better myself."

There was silence for a long moment. Then, unexpectedly, Misao flung herself at him, wrapping her arms around his waist as she buried her face against his chest. Caught off guard at the sudden movement, Aoshi stumbled back a step before regaining his balance. His body screamed at the sudden pressure and movement but he endured the pain with his usual patience as he wrapped his arms around his wife. When he moved, his yukata sported a few wet spots.

Misao was crying.

Okina had told him that Misao hadn't shed any tears except the first night when they were attacked. Aoshi, of course, had been unconscious for it all and relied on the older man to fill him in on the news Misao didn't want to share with him, mostly out of concern in burdening him. How like Misao to think that she was helping him not worry by not telling him anything.

Whatever the case may be, Misao was crying now, sobbing into his yukata and soaking it with her constant tears. Aoshi remained silent as he held her in his embrace. He would have stroked her hair except the movement was too painful to maintain continuously. At times like these, he cursed his weakness even more, unable to offer the support his wife needed.

When her tears finally slowed, she pulled her face from him and tried a smile that ended up more like a tremulous expression. "I'm sorry," she apologized as she wiped her face with the sleeve of her gi. "I don't know what came over me."

"I do," Aoshi said firmly. He would never admit it, but it secretly pleased him that Misao would feel comfortable enough to do something vulnerable like shedding tears, when she had not done so even in front of Okina. No doubt Misao thought to present a strong front for her followers and hiding her tears was a part of that. He was not going to allow Misao to retreat into her 'Okashira' mask with him, not when she opened up to him first. "You are frustrated, angry, exhausted, and worried, all at once. That is why you cried." He hand moved to wipe off a stray tear, the motion causing him to grimace slightly as the familiar searing pain traveled down his arm.

As if understanding his determination to keep the air open between them, Misao let her face fall back onto his chest, ignoring the wetness her tears had caused. "It was more than that," she said softly. "It's the first time you – anyone, really – said that they were proud of me. Proud that I was the Okashira." Unconsciously, she clutched him more tightly, causing her husband to gasp in slight pain. "Oh, oops. Sorry," she said sheepishly as she pulled back.

Aoshi shook his head, unable to speak, and drew her against him again. He savored the contact between their bodies, acknowledging the pain throbbing up and down his torso and arms but refusing to let it rule over him. In just a few short hours, Misao would return to being the Okashira of the Oniwabanshu and he the injured, pitied husband. Right now, he wanted to share this moment with her. "I was always proud of you, Misao," he whispered.

"Were you really?" Misao asked ruefully, absently rubbing a cheek against his chest. "The first three years of my being Okashira wasn't much."

"It was exactly what the Oniwabanshu needed," Aoshi said firmly. "Have you ever wondered why I never challenged you for the position, nor demanded it back?"

Misao's eyes widened – well, _of course_ she had wondered! She had come so close to asking him a million times but always kept her silence. The past wasn't something Aoshi brought up readily and she had always tried to respect that.

Pulling away from him so she could look up into his eyes, Misao blurted out, "Because you felt guilty for nearly killing Jiya and turning your back against your people?"

Aoshi blinked for a moment, the only reaction that showed his surprise at her rather blunt outburst. "Er, yes, that too," he conceded. "But there was another reason …"

When he didn't speak anymore, Misao tugged on his yukata impatiently. She had to know the reason; leave it to her husband to make her beg at a time like this! "What?" she demanded. "It's not fair stopping just like that, Aoshi-sama!"

The tall man actually had to fight back a small smile lurking at the corners of his lips. That had been the old Misao speaking, the one whose light had broken through his self-directed misery all those years ago. "As you well know, Misao, life is not fair," he said gravely, barely able to keep his expression straight.

She glared at him, crossing her arms across her chest. "That doesn't mean you have a right to torture me like this. Please tell me!"

Aoshi couldn't stop his lips from twitching at her petulant expression. There was no doubt Misao was a grown woman, but he really did miss her child-like antics. Well, sometimes. "I never challenged you, Misao, because I knew that you were the leader the Oniwabanshu needed."

He enjoyed the way her mouth fell open at his words. Rendering Misao speechless was too rare not to find any satisfaction in so he savored the moment before continuing on. "I had been away far too long and while Okina did his best, the Oniwaban needed someone who cared for its people." He closed his eyes, remembering when he was growing up how much he admired Makimachi-sama. "You show it in so many ways, Misao. The way you know all the names of the shinobi, the way you always ask about their well-being or know exactly what is going on in their lives. That is an important quality in a leader."

There was a puzzled look in the cerulean eyes as she absorbed his words for a long while. Finally, she said, "But I'm doing what you or Jiya would have done. It's not that big of a deal, knowing a few names or bringing soup over to someone when they're sick."

Aoshi shook his head. "I told you once before, Misao. I was the leader in times of war. I did not have the time or the luxury to ask about the welfare of the people. My first and foremost duties weren't to the shinobi but the citizens of Edo. They were just bodies to me and the lower the dead count, the better. And Okina was too busy protecting and raising you. We had a war to win. But the way you care for the Oniwabanshu now has kept us together." With some effort, he shifted his hand back to cup her cheek, feathering his thumb on her soft, damp skin. "Don't change, Misao," he murmured. "Not for me or for anyone else. Remain the woman who you are now and do your best to lead your people. That is all we want. That is all we need."

Misao remained silent for a long while as if contemplating his words. Aoshi watched her face, noting the flicker of emotions parading through her lovely blue eyes. When she finally blinked and gazed back at him, he merely nodded his head. That one look was enough for him to know she understood.

* * *

_AN: Another round of applause for my beta _**Kageharu Kaco**_ who was kind enough to beta this chapter. As usual, her comments and encouragement continue to help me muddle through this project._

_That said, this may be the last update for probably another 6 weeks since I have to re-evaluate where exactly this story is going. Somehow, the plot isn't as clear as I hoped and I need to make sure it's still on course (so much for outlines!). That means I'll have to start from Chapter 1 and sort it all out, hopefully in a more coherent picture so it's not buried under all the drama of Aoshi's injuries. Also, reading over the last 4 chapters have made me cringe so a re-edit is definitely in order. I may also change the format of this story, since some people have mentioned they're getting confused by the time shifts between each chapter. If I decide to change it, that'll require a lot of shuffling of chapter parts around._

_ As usual, any comments, criticisms, and suggestions are always welcome. Feel free to pm or email me. _


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